


Me, Myself and I

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:46:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Colonel Robert Hogan, Colonel, Senior Prisoner of War, Stalag 13, was a great many things - an officer, a hero, a ladies' man, a leader; altogether a man of many parts.  Perhaps, too MANY parts.





	Me, Myself and I

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short-short story. Thought about posting it for Halloween, but chose another one instead. Still, some might find it of some (sinister) value.

Sometimes he was oblivious; at other times he had some dim awareness but not enough to distract him from the job and the reality around him. Sometimes, though, he saw things with a great clarity, and those times were ones he treasured. He treasured them, because they reminded him that he was a good man, doing an important job, surrounded by similarly minded men for whom he felt genuine affection. This was one of those times. 

Robert Hogan couldn't stop grinning to himself. Damn, that had been amazing! He couldn't remember when a plan had come together so beautifully! Klink had fallen for that highly improvised line of patter, and sent Hogan and his guys into town on a work patrol. That put them in position to be able to not only steal and copy those lists of ammunition dumps and manufacturing plants, but actually to plant incriminating information on one of the more troublesome Gestapo officers who'd been hounding them. He'd been right to call it the 'Bait and Switch and Switch and Switch Mission'.

It hadn't been just him, he knew that. Actually, he was rather surprised he recognized that; sometimes he knew he tended to take all the credit when things came together, but this time he saw it very clearly. LeBeau had used his abilities in the kitchen to masquerade as a tempermental cook and get them the layout of the building as well as access. Newkirk and his 'magic fingers' had made the several necessary switches flawlessly. Kinch had rigged the listening devices they'd used, and Carter had taken good, clear photos of the documents, along with impersonating a German junior officer to decoy the guards away. It truly had been an amazing effort, with an equally amazing result.

He looked around the barracks. LeBeau fussing over the heating stove he managed to use so successfully to give them something decent to eat. Carter chattering away from his cross-legged perch on his bunk, something about a buffalo and an eagle, it sounded like. Newkirk dealing that inevitable hand of cards, complaining once again, as usual, about LeBeau and his French cooking, Carter and his "nattering on". Kinch trying to read, but lifting his eyes now and again to smile at the usual nonsense. Hogan was just so damned proud of them, each and every one of them. 

They seemed to feel his eyes on them, and one by one they turned their head to meet his gaze. The warmth on their faces told him they felt the same, that they were proud of themselves and each other, and of him. Damn, that felt good! Why couldn't it be like that all the time? It wouldn't be, he knew, but he stored the memory in a room inside his mind, to reassure him on the dark nights. 

A voice deep inside saw, heard and understood, and snorted in disgust.

*****

Sometimes Robert Hogan, Colonel, Senior Prisoner of War, Stalag 13, was oblivious; at other times he had some dim awareness but not enough to distract him from the reality around him. Sometimes, though, he saw things with a great clarity, and those times were ones he feared. He feared them, because they were becoming increasingly frequent, the times when that 'good man' faded away far too quickly, to be replaced by the other man, one who was perhaps (certainly) not good. He wondered how many other people went through this. Probably not so many. After all, it couldn't be normal, having two such different people living in one body. At least two, he sometimes thought, but perhaps it was three - himself the helpless observer, and the other two within him.

He'd asked his mother about it, when he'd been very young; she had sighed and told him he could get just two more cookies for the 'other' Roberts inside him - but, "just this one time, Robert; you just need to remember to share the ONE cookie next time". He was pretty sure she hadn't really understood what he was saying.

When he'd asked his father, a few years later, after that episode with the cat that belonged to old Mrs. Murphy (not that his father ever knew about that cat and its unfortunate fate), his father had scowled and told him he was reading too much, and obviously the wrong type of books. The copy of the 'Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr. Hyde' disappeared from the library that same day, along with all the Seabury Quinn and Lovecraft books, even the Edgar Allan Poe stories. When his mother had protested, his father had strictly proclaimed, "giving the boy nonsensical thoughts. Better off without them." Gradually the library shrunk to a mere shadow of what it had once been. It hadn't helped.

The only effect his private talk with his minister had was for the entire congregation to be treated to a severe lecture on 'sticking to the narrow way', not letting yourself think impure thoughts, and not letting Satan tempt them into evil-doing.

His frequent attempts at a discussion with God met with silence. He finally decided that God didn't much like talking with anyone who had more than one person living in the same body, and that made sense after his minister's OTHER sermon on demonic possession. The only question Robert had at that point, one he'd been severely chastised for asking in the group discussion in the teen group, had seemed to be a sensible one to him, and one he really wanted the answer to, "how do you know who is the real person and who is the demon, if they're both inside?" His father had a few things to say as well, after the youth minister reported that little episode. A few more books disappeared from the library, enough his mother was considering turning it into a sewing room.

So, he hadn't gotten any answers, but it had gotten easier with time. He pretty much accepted it anymore - there were three of him (them??) and that was all there was to it. It had been harder when the other two had quarreled so much about who was in charge, (making it known firmly that it wasn't HIM, the observer), but once that was over and out of the way, he felt calmer about the whole thing. At least it wasn't a battle anymore, not often anyway. And, knowing HE didn't have any say in the matter, that was rather a relief, absolving him of any responsibility.

SO, sometimes he had the uneasy feeling that maybe the wrong Robert was coming out on top, but he had never really figured out which was the 'right' Robert and which was the 'wrong' one, not for sure; they had each argued most logically and emphatically for their own view. He'd even noted that they BOTH had used the Bible (King James Version, of course) to make their points. And no one else seemed to know or care that there were three of him, and maybe they'd been right, his parents, the others, to just ignore it. And if God had cared, he had never made his preferences show. 

Now, he looked down at his hands, saw the blood on his knuckles, remembering the man in the tunnels below. Blinking, frowning as if in puzzlement, he tried to remember just what had prompted that beating, the beating and what had followed. For just a moment he remembered, just a flash of defiant blue-green eyes, and felt a rush of horror and remorse. Then it was gone, one Robert (the one he called 'Robb') pushing the other Robert (the one he now thought of as 'Robbie') back into that tiny corner, slamming the door shut and locking it. Now, it wasn't horror and remorse he was feeling; it was righteous anger at being defied. "He should have known better! Just who the hell does he think he is??! I'M the one in charge around here!"

He felt 'Robbie' trying to push forward, to protest, but that wasn't going to happen, not now; 'Robb' was firmly in control. 'Robbie' appeared so infrequently anymore, and when he did, was so easily mastered by 'Robb'. It was a shame in a way, but perhaps the battle had been uneven from the beginning. And 'Robb' didn't really need 'Robbie' anymore, not when he'd found others to amuse him and serve him. Looking up into the mirror on the wall beside his locker, Robb smiled, and said, mockingly, "my better half. Poor Robbie. God rest his soul," and burst into an amused laugh.

A voice deep inside saw, heard and understood, and wept in despair.

Robert Hogan, Colonel, Senior Prisoner of War, Stalag 13, turned away, calmly and prepared for bed. When he gave it serious consideration, it was probably for the best, anyway; he rather thought Robb would be much more effective in getting the job done, without Robbie holding him back with his weakness and his moralizing. And face it, Robb was much more interesting, had such interesting ideas and plans. Colonel Hogan found a sly smile coming to his face in the darkness, licked his lips in anticipation, and let himself drift off to the accompaniment of Robb whispering promises of just what was in store.


End file.
